


Scarlet Nails

by BethKennedy_x



Series: Wanda Maximoff; One shots [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Electrocution, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Implied/Referenced Torture, Natasha Romanoff likes painting nails, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov comforts Wanda, Natasha is a good friend, Natasha is worried about Wanda, Protective Natasha Romanov, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Wanda Maximoff - Freeform, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, Wanda Maximoff has PTSD, Wanda Maximoff has panic attack, Wanda Maximoff must be protected at all costs, Wanda Maximoff nightmare, natasha is a good sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethKennedy_x/pseuds/BethKennedy_x
Summary: Wanda can’t sleep at night. The memories of the raft keep forcing her awake.Natasha is just next door, and always happy to help.(I’m crap at summaries sorry!! I promise the actual story is better lmao)





	Scarlet Nails

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST WANNA QUICKLY SAY THERE IS A PANIC ATTACK IN THIS FIC, AND ALSO A TORTURE SCENE SO PLEASE DON’T READ IF THAT WILL TRIGGER OR UPSET YOU!! 
> 
> Ok, now that that’s out of the way! Hi everyone! This is my fanfic about Wanda dealing with the aftermath of the Raft and Natasha offering to help pick up the pieces . 
> 
> If you enjoyed please leave me a kudos and a comment if your feeling extra generous! 
> 
> Ok, I’ll stop rambling, enjoy!!! :D

Scarlet Nails

 

Wanda sighed deeply as she rolled onto her back. Exhaustion had seeped into her bones like a sponge in water and yet, she couldn’t sleep. She wanted to blame it on the crappy motel mattress she was forced to sleep on, or the constant draft coming in through the broken window, but she knew the real reason. The events of the raft were still preying on her thoughts. Every time she closed her eyes those dreadful days played on a loop in her mind like a broken record. It had been weeks since they were freed, weeks since she and the other ‘criminals’ had separated in order to stay safe. Weeks since she had talked to Clint, or Sam or hell even Scott Lang. In conversation, weeks could seem like a short span of time, but to Wanda it felt like years. She supposed she was lucky though, she had Steve and Natasha to keep her company. It could be worse, she told herself as she scrubbed at her stinging eyes, it could be worse.

Giving up on sleep (she guessed it was just yet another night that sleep was evading her), Wanda slowly sat up, stretching her achy muscles. Sleeping in motels had really started to do a number on her back, she felt like an old woman half the time now. Chills raced up and down her bare arms and legs and she scowled at the broken window. Trust her to get the room with the broken one. Her scruffy shorts and worn tank top weren’t exactly the most effective insulators, but it was all she had. Travelling light was essential whilst on the run, apparently. Rolling her stiff neck, she rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms in a miserable attempt to warm them up. No such luck.

In the moonlight, which shone through the window due to the lack of blinds, she could just make out the time on her cracked watch. 2.34 am. Earlier than she thought it would be. Not that it made a difference really, no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t sleep. She was too cold, too sore…too alone. She glanced longingly at the door that led to Natasha’s room, briefly entertaining the idea of knocking. Would she still be awake? Would she even want Wanda’s company? She played with the idea in her mind; she could knock, Natasha could let her in and they could watch TV together until the sun came up, far away from nightmares about shock collars and straitjackets. Or she could scold Wanda for being awake at the ungodly hour of nearly 3 in the morning and lecture her about the need to stay alert and aware at all times, which requires at least a little sleep.

She shoved the idea out of her head with a huff. Even if Natasha invited her in, she would probably ask why Wanda was awake and her bad dreams weren’t a topic she was eager to discuss with the spy. Sure, Natasha was actually a lot nicer than what Wanda initially thought (she couldn’t blame Natasha, or any of the Avengers really, for acting cold towards her at the start, after all, she did invade their deepest and darkest thoughts. Guilt reared its ugly head within her and she felt it twist in her gut at that thought). She sometimes thought of Natasha like a chocolate éclair, she had a hard exterior but once you got to know her (and once you were privileged enough to gain her trust) you were able to see her soft and sweet interior. Despite that, Wanda wasn’t one for vulnerability. She had had her fair share of that when Pietro died and the thought of piteously snivelling over her dreams of the raft to Natasha, who she had so viciously forced to relive her own, much worse, nightmares, made Wanda physically recoil in disgust. No, no way. Wanda could entertain herself for a couple hours.

Stepping softly onto the rough carpet, she padded lightly over to her bag on the stained chair a few feet away from her bed. To be honest, everything in the room was within a few steps from her bed. It was like being inside a cardboard box, even the walls were paper thin. Picking up her dirty rucksack, she reached inside and grabbed her book. It was old and battered, having been read countless times, but the familiar weight of it in her hands immediately eased her anxious mind. It was a comfort at this point, more than anything. She had read it enough times that she was almost certain she knew some chapters by heart, but it would keep her frenzied head occupied for a little while, at least.

Tip-toeing back to her bed, she hopped onto the bumpy mattress and stretched a hand over to flick the reading lamp on. It cast a pathetically dim glow on the room, which wavered and flickered every few moments. It wasn’t ideal, and she would probably end up with a headache later on from straining her eyes to read in such a light, but it would do. Opening the book, she smiled at the satisfying crack the spine made as she thumbed through the pages to reach where she last left off. She had taken to remembering the page number rather than folding the corner, as all the corners had been folded at one point or another and it soon became impossible to tell which page was actually meant to be creased over. Tonight’s magic number was 266, the very start of chapter 16.

Wanda rolled her shoulders as she slumped further into the bed, tucking her frozen legs under the scratchy bedsheets. Soon, the words on the page echoed through her mind in soothing tones, replacing her own hollow screams that tore out of her memories and into her head.

It was a while before she heard it. The soft knocking on her door. Her eyes would have been glowing red already if it weren’t for Natasha’s signature knock. Her heart dropped as possible issues raced through her head. Was there a problem? Did they have to go? Were they in danger? Natasha’s low voice broke her out of her panicked thoughts.

“Wanda? I know you’re awake, I can see your light. Can I come in?”

The young sorceress’ brows furrowed at the question. What could Natasha possibly want at, she paused to check the time, 3.16 am? She wondered. Another knock at her door had her breath hitching again.

“Wanda? I’m coming in, okay?” Natasha warned, and Wanda barely had time to gather her thoughts before the door creaked open to reveal the Avenger herself, dressed in similar cotton shorts and tank top to Wanda, except hers were all black. Wanda suddenly felt self-conscious in her pastel pink top and lilac shorts. Natasha slipped past the door and into her room, shutting it firmly behind her. Wanda sent her a questioning raise of an eyebrow in response.

“Natasha, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked when her voice finally returned. This was the last thing Wanda had expected to happen. Natasha smirked at her formality before gliding over to the edge of Wanda’s bed. Wanda was struck, not for the first time, how graceful and smooth Natasha was. Sometimes, Wanda would watch her fluid movements and wonder why she was not thought of as a cat instead of a spider.

“I saw your light on. I figured something was wrong” Natasha’s tone was airy, but Wanda could hear the underlying concern. She wondered how many nights Natasha had noticed her light being on. She silently cursed her own stupidity, of course Natasha would notice things like that. She was a spy, it was in her blood to observe, to notice things others didn’t. Heat rushed into her cheeks as she picked at the bedsheets. Earlier, she had recoiled at the idea of discussing her night terrors with Natasha, but now, her stomach physically rolled at the mere idea of it. She suddenly wished her powers could do more than float things in the air like, for example, create wormholes that she could escape into during situations like these.

“Hey? Wanda, talk to me. Is it Pietro again?” 

Natasha’s eyes were round and soft and filled with worry and they were also a lot closer than they were a second ago. When did Natasha sit down on the bed? Maybe the lack of sleep was messing with her head more than she thought. The mention of Pietro’s name was a stab to the chest, despite how long it had been. She tried to mask her face into one of indifference as she continued to rip apart the ruined bedsheets. She didn’t want to think about him, because thinking about him hurt more than the memories of the raft did and that was really saying something.

“No. I’m fine Natasha, I promise” Wanda reassured in what she hoped was a convincing voice. She had schooled her face into an easy, relaxed expression and she met Natasha’s worried green orbs with as much confidence as she could muster. She didn’t look convinced, and Wanda deflated a little. She had really hoped Natasha would just let it drop. Apparently not.

“Really? You don’t seem fine” she replied softly, absentmindedly rubbing at her arms. Wanda could see the goose-bumps raising on them from where she sat. Her mind wandered to the broken window and she wondered distantly whether Natasha could fix it. Not being so goddamn cold would’ve certainly helped lighten her mood. Suddenly, Natasha’s surprisingly warm hand was on Wanda’s arm and she was shaking it a little. Wanda realised with a jolt that Natasha had been talking, and she hadn’t heard any of it.

“Hey, Wanda. Eyes on me, is everything okay?” Natasha asked, the concern had filtered into her voice now, and whilst it remained steady Wanda could hear the worry in her tone. She pushed down the nausea burning in her throat and jerkily nodded her head.

“Yeah, yeah Natasha I’m fine. Just tired is all” Wanda replied hastily. Natasha’s eyes bored into her own, probably glazed eyes and the concern in them almost broke her.

“I swear Natasha, I’m okay” Wanda repeated with more conviction. The very idea of Natasha worrying over her, especially for something as pathetic as a bad dream sickened her. She felt the guilt tenfold when she properly noticed how tired Natasha looked. The now blonde assassin had purple shadows stained beneath her eyes, as if she had smudged eyeshadow on the bottom of them. Her face was pale and drawn, making her somehow look much older and much younger all at once. Without all her weaponry and her suit, she looked smaller too. Not less capable, or less strong, but smaller in stature. Wanda was pretty sure she had lost weight (all of them had, especially Steve, as living as fugitives meant much less food. That didn’t bode well for Steve’s increased metabolism).

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she examined the young witch and Wanda struggled not to fidget under her intense stare. After a few uncomfortable moments, Natasha relented and suddenly she was leaping off the bed and walking back towards the door. Wanda felt equal amounts of relief and dread; as much as she wanted Natasha to stop worrying over her, the mere thought of spending the rest of the night alone made her heart quicken inside of her chest. Natasha, seeming to sense her anxiety (it was hard not to. To Wanda, it was almost electric in the air between them) quickly reassured her.

“I’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going to get supplies”

Wanda could only nod mutely before Natasha had sneaked round her door and into the shadows of her adjoining room. She briefly wondered what ‘supplies’ Natasha was talking about. Weapons maybe? Was she wanting to train? She didn’t have too much time to ponder as no more than a minute later Natasha was edging through her door again with a small, blue bag in hand. It looked like Wanda’s pencil case from when she was younger, but bigger. She could hear clattering from within it when Natasha jostled it slightly in her hands. Wanda squinted in the dim lighting to try and get a closer look.

“I know I say to travel light, but this is my pastime. Sometimes I think it’s the only thing that keeps me sane” Natasha admitted lightly as she settled back onto the bed. Wanda watched quietly as Natasha unzipped the bag to reveal several little bottles with different coloured liquids in them. It probably took Wanda a couple beats too long to realise what they were.

“Nail polish?” She asked in an incredulous tone. Natasha hushed her gently, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Yes, nail polish. I like to paint my nails sometimes, it’s therapeutic”

Wanda’s brow furrowed in confusion as she peered at Natasha’s hands.

“But, you never have any on” Wanda thought aloud, posing the statement as more of a question.

“I always take it off afterwards” Natasha shrugged, before adding “sometimes I like to start again if I’ve messed up”

Wanda simply nodded as she watched Natasha line the coloured bottles up on the bed. Her sleep deprived brain hadn’t managed to connect the dots yet, so when Natasha looked up at her expectantly, Wanda blanked.

“What?” she asked, bewildered. Natasha gestured with her hands towards the bottles, and when Wanda simply raised her eyebrows, Natasha puffed out a chuckle.

“Pick a colour, Wanda” she advised, and to Natasha’s credit her tone was only semi teasing. Wanda’s mouth fell open into a little ‘o’ as realisation dawned on her and she blushed slightly, praying Natasha wouldn’t notice in the dull lighting. She examined the colours laid out for her carefully, there was quite the variety. Eventually, she settled on the red that was labelled ‘scarlet’, it seemed fitting. Natasha picked the bottle up with an approving nod. She shook it vigorously, before opening it up and carefully placing it back on the sheets. Wanda offered her right hand, and Natasha grabbed it gently, lowering it towards the bed to steady herself.

At first, the pair stayed quiet, with Natasha carefully applying the bright liquid to Wanda’s nails and Wanda herself watching in poorly concealed fascination. Halfway through the first hand, Natasha glanced up and smirked at Wanda’s awed expression.

“What? Have you never seen nail polish before?”

Wanda shook herself out of her haze and blinked rapidly, fumbling for an answer. Truth was, she hadn’t ever worn nail polish, but she didn’t want Natasha knowing that. However, she was addled due to the lack of sleep and her mind was slow in providing a reasonable answer. Natasha paused her hand and quirked an eyebrow. Wanda internally winced at the shine of pity in her eyes.

“Seriously?” she asked, and Wanda sighed.

“My mother and father were too poor when I was little to buy things like nail polish, and after they died…well, Pietro and I were too poor also” Wanda shrugged. To her, it wasn’t really a big deal. They survived with what they had, and that was normally enough for them. Natasha still seemed unsettled by the admission though. Silently, she continued smoothing the bold colour onto her nails.

It was a while before either one spoke again. Wanda had lulled herself into a state of relaxation as she watched Natasha methodically spread the polish onto her nails. Her heavy eyelids drooped, and her body slumped slightly as she melted into the mattress. Natasha, the ever observant friend she was, manoeuvred the both of them so that Wanda was able to slouch against the peeling wallpaper behind her bed.

At some point, Natasha began humming a song under her breath. It was an unfamiliar tune to Wanda, but in her hazy mind she guessed it was a lullaby. She wanted to joke about how she wasn’t a child, but she was too tired to even open her eyes (which she couldn’t even remember shutting). A part of her mind screamed at her to stay awake, warning her of the danger of letting her guard down in front of Natasha. But, Natasha’s soothing tune was oozing into her pounding head, releasing a tension she wasn’t aware she was carrying. It quickly became easier to ignore the warning bells ringing in the back of her mind, and soon enough she was sinking deeper into the welcoming darkness. The last thing she registered was someone lowering her onto the bed, and sheets covering her, before someone slipped in next to her and began combing their hand through her hair.

—————————————————————————

An alarm reverberated painfully around the cell, bouncing off of the concrete walls and slamming painfully into her head. She registered distantly that somebody must have kicked off again for the alarm to have sounded. It was slightly worrying that she didn’t realise it was her until the guards were strapping the shock collar around her neck. Restraints held her hands behind her back, and a needle was plunging deep into her arm, weakening her powers. Screams so loud they ripped her throat raw burst from her mouth as she begged and pleaded. She didn’t mean to do it, whatever she done, she didn’t mean to do it. She promised. Just please don’t shock her. Don’t shock her. Please.

Someone else was yelling. It was a male voice. Clint. Clint was yelling. He sounded angry. Wanda hoped she hadn’t disappointed him. She didn’t mean to do it, she didn’t even know what she done. The guards stepped away from her, the shock collar in place. She had stopped screaming, but her body continued to heave as she wailed miserably. Terror sped through her veins as she watched them ready the machine. Any second now. Her hands were shaking so violently she could hear the metal of the restraints clanging together. The skin around her wrists was raw, she could feel the blood dripping down her hands. Fear had gripped her heart in a hold so tight it was painful. The knowledge of what was about to happen weighed heavily on her frayed mind as her pulse raced erratically.

The machine buzzed like a swarm of hornets as it powered up. No, no, no, no, no, no. Please no. She was barely breathing at this point. The balloon of terror in her chest had inflated so much there was no room for her to inhale anymore. It just sat, straining against her lungs as she wept. The guard gave the all clear. She screamed a final time.

Her vision went white as she spasmed in her chair. Hot, searing burning enveloped her whole body in a blanket of agony. Her limbs convulsed as the electricity danced through her veins. All she knew was intense pain. The concept of time deserted her, she had no idea how long she had been trapped in the cyclone of sheer torment. She felt her heart stutter painfully as it struggled to keep up with the immense amount of electricity pouring through her body. Every single nerve ending was on fire, and the flames licked her insides greedily. Her breathing had ceased, and her head pummelled in time with her faltering heart beat due to the lack of oxygen to her brain. Her magic, despite being weakened by their drugs, roared inside of her like a seething lion. It raged around her thrashing body, desperately seeking an escape from the all consuming pain. She couldn’t let it out though, letting her magic out would make things so much worse.

It was hard to tell if the screaming resounding through her head was her own or someone else’s.

All her sense was blurring together into a haze of infinite agony until she could barely differentiate between fiction and reality.

There was a certain voice though, that sounded less distressed and loud, but more soft and urgent. It contrasted so greatly with her current predicament that Wanda found herself straining to listen to it.

At first it was too far away to focus on, but it gradually grew clearer and clearer until Wanda could hear it above everything else.

“Wanda! Wanda, it’s okay, I’m here. You’re not there anymore Wanda. Just open your eyes for me”

Her fried mind spun as she struggled to make sense of the voice in her head. Latching onto it was difficult, but understanding it was even more tricky. The scorching agony was still ripping her insides apart and it was hard to make sense of anything at this point.

“Open your eyes Wanda” the voice begged. It sounded so scared. Were her eyes closed? She couldn’t tell.

“Wanda please, you need to open your eyes and breathe now”

Breathe? She couldn’t, the electricity was like fire in her lungs and she couldn’t breathe-

“Wanda!”

Wanda shot up out of bed with a start, her frenzied eyes frantically darting around the foreign room. She was on the raft. She was trapped on the raft. She couldn’t get out. She was trapped in the raft.

“Wanda, hey! It’s Natasha, you’re not on the raft. You’re safe with me” a voice urged, her tone consciously soft and comforting. Like she was talking to a wounded animal. Wanda’s glazed eyes roamed around the room still, to terrified to find purchase on anything real and tangible. Two hands carefully cupped her face and they tapped her cheeks lightly.

“Wanda, look at me. Look at me” she insisted.

Wanda’s eyes met Natasha’s.

Her hair was ruffled from sleep, but her eyes were wide and alert. There were too many confusing emotions in the depths of them and Wanda was too terrified to decipher any of them.

Natasha was there. Holding her face. But Natasha wasn’t on the raft. Had they gotten Natasha?

“No, no. We aren’t on the raft Wanda. We are in the motel, remember. We painted your nails”

The events of the night came rushing into her mind, hitting her like a tidal wave. Natasha painted her nails. Scarlet, she had picked scarlet. She fell asleep? Why would she do that? The raft, it was a dream. It wasn’t real. She was safe. She was safe.

Relief crashed into her so fiercely she swayed where she sat. Natasha moved one hand onto her shoulder to steady her, keeping the other on her face so that she could easily gain her focus again with another couple taps.

“You with me?” she asked gently. Wanda nodded numbly. Just moments before she had been a mess of emotions all tumbling over one another to have top priority. Now, she just felt numb, and sore. Her throat and chest ached. Had she been screaming? Natasha tapped her again and Wanda realised she hadn’t answered properly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay” She said robotically, her voice sounding raw and shaky even to her own ears. Natasha ignored her completely, continuing to comfortingly rub her thumb up and down Wanda’s cheek. She was glad, it helped to ground her. Helped her keep focus. Her mind was so all over the place and Wanda was scared she would get lost in it.

Natasha carefully moved so that instead of crouching in front of Wanda, she was settled in bed next to her again. Wanda felt her chest fill with dread as she anticipated Natasha’s next question. Almost as if Natasha could read her thoughts, she piped up.

“Want to talk about it?”

Wanda’s eyes involuntarily closed as she fought to control her sporadic breathing. She was back to square one, just like hours before. All her energy was being spent on desperately attempting to rebuild the walls she had so carefully built these past few months. Steve and Natasha were never meant to see her like this. She was doing better, she was doing fine. She could handle it. Wanda wanted to believe she was handling it.

“It might help” Natasha offered. She had taken to stroking the back of Wanda’s hand now. There was no expectation in her voice, just understanding. She didn’t want to pressure her. Wanda appreciated the gesture.

“I can’t”

Wanda hadn’t meant to speak, but it was true. She didn’t think she was able to. She had never felt so fucking drained in all her life. She just wanted to sleep. Was that too much to ask?

“I know it feels that way, but you’ll be surprised at how much lighter you will feel after unloading some of that burden on your shoulders” Natasha said quietly. Yeah, and right onto your shoulders thought Wanda bitterly. She didn’t want to do this. There was not one fibre in her entire being that wanted to have this conversation.

“Try. For me” Natasha asked. Wanda couldn’t say no to that.

The words flowed out of her mouth easier than she thought they would. She stumbled at first, unsure of how to express her thoughts in a logical way but eventually she gave up and just hoped Natasha could understand her crazed, terrified ramblings. Every so often, Natasha would place a steadying hand on Wanda’s arm, and they would breathe together because somewhere along the way Wanda would have stopped. Then Natasha’s hand would return to her hand and Wanda would pick up from where she left off. It took her a while. All of a sudden, she had so much to get off her chest and she found that she couldn’t stop. Eventually though, it slowed to a trickle and Wanda’s hands shook as she wiped at the tears steaming down her face. She hadn’t dared look at Natasha’s face the entire time. When she looked at the bedsheets, she could pretend like she was just talking to herself. Looking at Natasha would just remind her that she was here, her mentor, her friend was here, witnessing her epic mental breakdown.

However, Natasha seemed intent on reminding Wanda of just that, as after Wanda finally finished she kept tugging on her hand until she met her eyes. Wanda expected to find horror there, or pity, or at the very worst judgement or uncertainty. Instead, she found understanding.

Wanda collapsed against Natasha and wept. She wept for herself, and her fucked up mind, she wept for her home, or lack thereof, she wept for Pietro, and his ever present absence in her world. She even wept for the sake of weeping, after bottling it all up for so long it felt good to get it out. And, unsurprisingly, Natasha was right in the end. After all of it, she felt lighter.

“You can talk to me- to us, Wanda. Steve and I, we love you. We want to help you. But we can’t if we don’t know the full story” she explained gently. Wanda nodded against her shoulder.

The first rays of the morning sun were filtering into the motel room, casting it in a soft, amber glow. It was just after 7 am, Steve would be wanting them to go soon.

“Let’s just wait a little longer” Natasha suggested, strengthening her hold on Wanda. Wanda smiled gratefully in reply, nodding her head in agreement. She caught sight of her red nails against Natasha’s black shirt. They stood out against the dull, ruined room. They were bold and vibrant and strong, and Wanda loved them.

“Thanks for doing my nails” she whispered. 

She felt a puff of warm air on her skin as Natasha chuckled.

“Anytime, Wanda. Anytime”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank so much for reading! Remember to leave a kudos/comment if you liked :)


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